Maine Squeeze (20 page)

“You know what? I'll put money into the jar—I'm always over here.” Erica handed me two twenty-dollar bills. “Here, Colleen.”

“You don't have to,” I said.

“I know, but I want to,” Erica said.

I handed her back one of the twenties. “This will be great,” I said as I stuffed the other twenty into the jar. “Thanks.”

“You know what took me so long?” Blair said. “Some old lady fell and broke her arm and wrist or something. Everyone was talking about it at the store. She had to go in to the hospital last night on someone's boat and get it set. There was this really long line because everyone was talking about it.”

“Yeah, you can't even sneeze around here without people talking about it,” Samantha said.

Which was sometimes a very annoying thing, but it meant that if Blair ever took the car again without asking, at least I'd find out about it.

“Who was it? Did you get a name?” Haley asked.

“No. Well, Betty something.”

“You're kidding. Betty McGonagle?” I asked. “Was that it?”

“Yeah, that sounds right.” Blair refilled her coffee mug, draining the last drops left in the pot.

Poor Betty,
I thought. But maybe it wasn't her painting hand. Then again, maybe it was.

“Hello, Mrs. McGonagle?” I knocked again and called into the house. “Can I come in?”

“Only if you call me Betty!” an irritated voice called back.

“Okay. Betty.” I smiled and opened the screen door. “How are you?” I asked as I walked into her living room. She was sitting on the sofa with her right arm propped up on the side of it. She set down the book she had been reading when I walked in, and looked up at me. She was thin, with short, bright white hair that almost looked dyed that color, as if it were one shade short of platinum.

“Well, I've got a claw now,” she said, holding up her right arm, which was wrapped and bandaged and partially in a cast. “Other than that, perfectly fine, same as always.”

“Sorry to hear about your accident,” I said. I hadn't been to her house since the last time I trick-or-treated, which must have been five years ago. I didn't remember all the abstract paintings on the walls. “Did you do those?” I asked.

“Most of them. Now, what can I get you? How about a cup of tea?” Betty said, starting to get to her feet.

“But I'm here to help you—to see what
you
need,” I said.

“Nonsense. Don't need a thing,” she said. “Now, what have you been up to this summer?”

“Well, you know. My parents are in Europe. I'm working at Bobb's.”

“Well, I know all
that
, I'm not living in a cave,” Betty said. “Honestly, Colleen. I'm old, not dead,” she snapped.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Oh, it's not you. It's my idiot son. Wants me to leave the island, move in with him, in Bangor. Told him I'm not leaving this place. Just because I hurt myself, he thinks I'm helpless.”

“You're not,” I said. “Obviously.”

“It's not as if I can't get help when I need it. Which I don't,” she insisted. “Except last night when I had to call Cap and get him to take me in to the hospital in his boat. But that worked. That worked just fine.”

One thing I really like about our island is that everyone takes care of one another. They might grumble about it, but they'll do it. And we might talk about each other too much, but at least we keep up with each other's lives.

“So how did you hurt your arm?” I asked as I followed Betty into the kitchen. “How long will it take to heal?”

“Six weeks or so.” She groaned as she filled the tea kettle with water from the tap. “An eternity, in other words.”

“Well, you'll tell me. If there's anything I can do to help, I mean,” I said.

“You could come by now and then,” she said. “Bring me some of your work. If I can't paint, then I can live vicariously through you. Right?” She smiled as she took mugs from the cabinet above the counter.

I wonder if Evan's working tonight
. I stirred my spaghetti around my plate, and stared off into space, picturing Evan working with Blair, wondering whether there was anything going on between them, or if it already had. I should never have asked Blair to live with us. Not just because of the Evan thing, although that was awkward, too.

Suddenly I remembered a big fight Evan and I had had last summer, when I thought we were going out exclusively, and he had spent an entire day sailing with this girl named … Kelley.

Wait
a second. No wonder she'd left Bobb's for the summer to work at the Spindrift B&B. Somehow, she'd gotten the heads-up that he was coming back for the summer. It wasn't about wanting to make muffins or beds. No, she was the
smart
one on the island.

I am a horrible, terrible person,
I thought. I was sitting with Ben's family, having dinner, and I was thinking about Evan.

I was pathetic. It seemed as if I couldn't stop having these thoughts. What was wrong with me? Had I repressed all these things for months, and now they were taking their revenge? But did it have to happen mid-spaghetti? One strand went down the wrong way, and Ben nearly had to give me the Heimlich maneuver to save me from choking.

“Are you all right?” Ben asked.

“S-sure,” I said. “Sorry. Don't know what I was doing. I just spaced out there for a second.”

“You're tired, that's all,” Ben's mother said. “In fact, you two are both working too hard this summer. I don't see how you've had time to just have fun together.”

“It's been hard,” I agreed. Not to mention complicated.

“How
is
your job going?” Ben's father asked.

“Good.” I nodded.

“Busy?”

“Very. Well, not every night,” I said. “But most of them.”

“So you're making some good money?” he asked.

“Definitely.” Unless you counted the expensive-Birkenstock-sandals deduction. Or maybe it was more of a Colleen-impulsive-act-of-stupidity deduction. If he'd gotten mad or upset, the ninety dollars would be well worth it. But no, he'd enjoyed being tossed into the drink.

I looked up from my salad bowl and smiled at Ben's mother, who was watching me for some reason. Could
she
tell, somehow?

Meanwhile, Ben reached over under the table and put his hand on my leg. I was so surprised that I nearly kicked their dog, who was lying at my feet. Ben hardly ever did anything like that—not in front of (or under the table of) his parents and family.

I glanced at him and gave him a small, questioning smile.

After dinner, we had planned on watching a movie together, but I just wasn't in the mood. I felt too restless to sit still—like I needed to be out on a walk or something.

Hanging out with Ben like this, sitting around and listening to music … it was all fun and good and wonderful, when Evan wasn't here. But he
was
here now. And I was sitting on the sofa with Ben, wondering what Evan was doing that night. Not the
whole
time, but wasn't even part of the time bad enough?

Suddenly I couldn't take it anymore. I just needed some time to think, some time to breathe.

“You know what? I know we planned on watching a movie and everything, but I think I need go check on Betty and see how she's doing,” I said, standing up.

“What?” Ben asked. “Check on Betty? McGonagle?”

“Yeah. I was over there yesterday, and she just … she needs some help,” I said. “I promised I'd stop by, so I'd better do that before it gets too late.”

“But … you always made fun of her,” Ben said, getting up to follow me outside.

“I know. And that was really horrible of me. She's actually very nice,” I said. “And she showed me a lot of her other paintings yesterday. I mean, she paints so much more than just … oceans. The stuff she sells at the gift shop, you know, that's just to support herself. She does abstract stuff; some of it's really incredible.” I'd spent more than an hour at her house, looking at her work. I'd had no idea she was more than just … rolling surf.

“Yeah.” Ben had never really been that interested in art—mine or anyone else's. “So … wait. Are you serious? You're going over there right now?”

“Just to check on her on my way home,” I said. “Why? Is that okay?”

“It just seems strange, that's all.” Ben stood in the open doorway. “Are you sure that's where you're going?”

What was he trying to say? Oh, no. He thought I was leaving because I was going to see Evan. I could see why he'd think that, but it wasn't true. I might be confused at times, but I wasn't a liar.

“Yes, I'm sure,” I said, trying to keep things simple. I didn't really want to go into it right now. “Do you want to come with me?”

He shook his head. “No. Not really.”

“Okay, well, I'll see you tomorrow?” I walked back and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“You want a ride?” Ben offered as I started down the driveway.

“No, it's okay—I want to walk,” I said.

After a quick visit to Betty, who looked at me like I was crazy for coming by twice in one day, and assured me she was still fine, I went home, walking the long way. I just felt like I couldn't be home tonight, I couldn't be with Ben. I dropped by to say hello to Haley's parents when I went past their place. I stopped in to say hello to my aunt and uncle. I even had a semi-okay thirty-second visit with the grumpy John and Molly Hyland, who were out for their evening stroll.

I'd never done so much socializing in my life, but mostly it was because I wanted to keep moving and I didn't want to stop. I didn't know why I had so much energy or what, exactly, I was looking for.

When I finally gave up and went home, Hutch was lying on the end of my bed, curled up on my red sweatshirt. I changed into my pajamas and lay down beside him. I scratched him behind the ears, and he turned over and stretched out on his back. Then I rubbed his belly. It was a good five minutes of cat therapy before Hutch turned and looked right at me. He stood up and rubbed his face against mine.

“I know, Hutch,” I said softly. “I don't know what I'm doing, either.”

Chapter 17

Saturday morning, when I went downstairs to make myself breakfast, I saw a body stretched out on the sofa. I almost didn't want to look—did we need any more unidentified overnight guests in this house? But then I quickly realized that it was my big brother lying there, curled up under a blanket.

“Richard! When did you get here?” I squealed. I ran over to give him a big hug. I hadn't seen him in a few months, and hadn't even realized how much I missed him until, suddenly, there he was.

“I caught the last ferry last night. I thought for sure I'd wake you guys up when I came in, but—well, I guess I perfected the art of sneaking into this house late at night a long time ago.” He sat up and rubbed his head. “Though I did hit my head coming in the window.” His short, wavy blond hair was a floppy, curly mess, as if it had absorbed half of the ocean on the way over on the ferry, as if he'd been at sea for weeks. If my hair became a frizzone, Richard's turned into a curlizone. He nearly had
ringlets
. Which could have been embarrassing if he didn't have such good cheekbones.

“Why didn't you call or E-mail before you came?” I asked. “I would have come to pick you up, if I knew when to.”

“I wasn't sure I was going to make it. Then a guy I work with rented a car, and I drove up with him. He's in Machias now. Anyway, don't worry about it.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He was wearing a white T-shirt and shorts. “I met this girl on the ferry last night—”

“Oh, no,” I groaned. “Here we go again.”

He grinned. “She gave me a ride. She's staying at the Ludlows' this weekend. Do we know the Ludlows?”

“Richard.” I picked up a pillow and bashed him on the head with it.